


Before Time Runs Out

by TheWubber



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Aka the Cindersmella au, Angst, Cinderella AU, Death in the Family, Godmother Mercy is tired of Jamie basically, Loss of Limbs, M/M, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Reinhardt and Ana were married, a lil angsty, at least kind of, blame Kippy-Bippy they did this, blowjob, but Jamie is gonna be a pretty princess, but things happened, general sadness, i'll tag as I go on, reinhardt is a happy dad, this is gonna be filthy, this is their fault, unhealthy family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-14 14:30:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8017609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWubber/pseuds/TheWubber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jamison's life has always been much less than perfect. His mother died when he was young, then his father married a rude wench who had two sons that all hated him. Then he lost his limbs, and soon after that, his father too.</p><p>After being left with the remains of a broken family that treated him more like a slave than a person, he gives up on happiness.</p><p>That is until he meets a certain seven foot three prince at a ball he wasn't supposed to attend and steals his crown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Boy

Life really, truly sucks. It’s unfair, cruel, and takes away the best people. Jamison Fawkes learned this when he was a young boy, after he watched his beloved mother be lowered into the ground. He doesn’t usually remember most things, but his mother’s funeral still sticks out in his mind, even if he gets some of the details wrong at times.

He remembers how peaceful and pale her face looked, how the rain droplets trickled down her closed casket, how his father tried his best to stay strong. Jamison remembers how he screamed when it was all over, how he yelled and cried and fell to the mud, how his body shook and felt so cold as the bitter wind froze him in place. He stayed outside, just screaming and sobbing until his throat went raw and his father had to drag his weak, shaking, tired body back inside.

He didn’t remember much else about the day, other than falling asleep without dinner. He hadn’t had much of an appetite that day, or many of the days following it. His frame thinned, and he stayed secluded most of the time, only coming out when his father had big news for him. One day, there was a piece of news that was going to change his life, seemingly for forever.

“I’ve decided to marry again.”

Jamison felt betrayed and infuriated. He ran right back into his room without even meeting his new step mother, or even the two step brothers that had been very briefly mentioned. He didn’t want to meet them, he wanted absolutely nothing to do with them. They wouldn’t be able to replace his mother, and he hated his father for trying.

He had already changed when his mother had died. He felt sadder, isolated, confused, hurt, all of the things a young man normally felt after his mother died. But once his father married that other woman, he was never quite the same. He became just a tad unhinged, dabbled in danger, playing with fire and even creating small explosives in his room, hardly ever getting any sleep. His blonde hair would become wild and tangled, sticking up in every which way, coated in grease as he rarely bathed. He hardly ate, though when he did he made his own meals. He wanted nothing to do with the family he was forced to live with, and he definitely didn’t want to eat anything they made.

By the time he reached the age of twenty two, there was a day when he had been up all night and he was messing with one of his homemade bombs. He didn’t know what went wrong, but he soon figured out that something went horribly, terribly wrong. All he can ever remember from that day is a bright light and a very loud sound. When he woke up again, his right arm and leg were both gone, only leaving a pair of stumps and a dull, painful ache. Wonderful.

After a few months of struggling to live with only two functioning limbs, he was given the gift of a pair of prosthetics made by one of the blacksmiths in the area. It was a gift from his father, who he assumed was sick of looking at his failure of a son hobbling around. Or maybe his father was getting sick of his step sons making fun of his biological son’s constant struggling to move around. He never really did figure out why, and he never cared to.

At first Jamison didn’t want to use his new prosthetics. He didn’t want his father thinking he had ever forgiven him for marrying another woman, and especially a woman who had shown herself to dislike Jamison. She wasn’t really cruel, but it was clear that she didn’t want anything to do with him. He didn’t bother to try, except for the rare moment when he was in a particularly good mood and he would tell her some kind of joke. Naturally, she would snub him. Ah well, her loss, he had a great sense of humor.

It was better that they weren’t too close anyways. He didn’t want to constantly be reminded that she was only six years older than him. That would only give the frustrated young man even more reason to resent his father. He just stayed in his room, still trying to make himself feel useful by going about his normal business with only two limbs left. The prosthetics lay by his bed, alone and unused.

At least until his father died as well. Some unknown disease, something he almost wished he had gotten as well. He was now stuck with his stepmother, Mei, and his stepbrothers Hanzo and Genji, none of them liking him at all. He tried to ignore them, tried to avoid them as best as he could, but they would call his name as he sat in his burnt room, telling him to do simple, stupid little things for them.

At first he tried to fight against their will, tried to argue against their commands. He didn’t very much like the idea of being humiliated in such a way, especially not when they started treating him like less of a family member and more like a slave only a month after his father died. He cursed at them and snapped at them to do it themselves, but then they would make some retort about his dad in reply. He fought his stepbrothers over comments like these many times, never winning. Not with a crutch that hardly worked and his weakened pair of leftover limbs.

They were able to take control of him not too much longer afterwards. After losing too many fights to let even his pride cloud his vision and the lack of hope for his own future, he gave. He gave in to their commands and their constant bossing and nagging. He did every chore in the house by himself on top of their endless individual demands. He didn’t like it, not one bit, but he knew he just had to deal with it. He even started wearing his prosthetics so they would stop nagging him about how slow and awkward everything he did was.

He had to admit, his father had been kind to give him such fancy new limbs. They worked well, even though they had been sitting in his room for nearly a year. When he first put them on, he felt whole again, flexing his faux fingers and oiling the joints. He didn’t mind their squeaking, but he didn’t want to hear his step family complain about the noise.

The leg strapped on to his stump was nothing like the leg he had had before, but he did like it either way. It was almost like a broomstick, and he still walked with a strange limp, but he still enjoyed being able to walk with two kind of feet again. He was still a little slow, but it wasn’t as bad as that god awful one legged hop he was reduced to before. This felt better. Felt right.

Naturally his step family didn’t comment on his using his prosthetics, not even when he was much faster with his chores than before. The most they communicated with him was when they were either telling him what to do or ridiculing him. They had never respected him enough to do anything but. When they looked at him, they saw a peasant, a commoner, a slave.

When he looked at them, he saw empty, hollow, horrible assholes. He figured that that was worse than being a peasant, so their comments began to just bounce off of him. What he really hated was being bossed around like he was some child. He was nearly twenty three now, he was a grown man. Why now, when he had these fancy new limbs, did he choose not to fight back?

Maybe he had just accepted his fate. Maybe he thought it would be like this forever. Until they worked him to death, or until he snapped and killed them all.

Whatever came first.

_End of Chapter_


	2. The Transformation

Two more years of being stuck in a family that hated Jamison and he was still trapped right where he was. Well, maybe not where he was _exactly_ , not after having been shoved to the basement. He didn’t mind, at least, he didn’t anymore The room he had now was warm, and while it was prone to some flooding if there was a bad storm outside, he had lots of company. Little mice and cockroaches would skitter about the room and stick around him. He had even given them all names. He liked to think that they were all friends.

Sometimes they tended to be a little more “helpful” than he would want them to be, but he didn’t mind all too much. Although he didn’t exactly enjoy it when when one of his rodent friends was sniffing at his face and probably trying to get him to wake up. He groaned and picked the little mouse up, carefully putting it on the floor before turning in bed and giving a loud, complaining groan.

God, he wanted to sleep so badly. He had kept himself up the night before after an entire day of almost nothing but chores and meaningless work. He was extremely tired, and normally he could handle the lack of sleep, but today his body felt like it wanted nothing more than to just sink into the mattress. He wanted to close his eyes and slip back into peaceful unconsciousness. Then he heard his name being called from upstairs and a shot of fearful adrenaline swam up his spine. He groaned again, getting off of his dingy mattress and limping up the stairs. He stifled a big yawn as he emerged on the ground floor of their little house, taking in the sight of his step family running around, trying to get themselves ready for something.

“Oh, _now_ you’re up!” Mei said, her voice exasperated and frustrated. “You need to get started on your duties for the day, and be quick about it. I want this house spotless and in peak condition by the time we get back home.”

No matter how much he wanted to not care, that peaked Jamison’s curiosity. “Where’re ya goin’?”

Mei frustratedly groaned again, wanting to do anything but talk to her step son. But she still replied to him, her tone flat and cold.

“The king has announced that he is throwing a ball to celebrate the prince’s return, and the entire town has been given invitations to go.”

“Huh,” Jamison said. “Didn’t take the prince to be the social type.”

“He isn’t, this is the first interaction he’ll have with his town since he left for his education,” Mei explained as she ran into the bathroom, beginning on her makeup.

Jamison followed close behind and leaned against the doorway. “Interestin’. I get to go, too, roight?” He asked nonchalantly, looking at his chewed up nails, trying his hardest not to look eager.

She stopped moving around, and turned to face him, an icy smile crossing her lips. “Oh, of course, dear,” she said, her voice as disgustingly and falsely sweet. “As long as you have something nice to wear.”

Any type of hope Jamison might’ve had slipped through his bony fingers. She knew damn well he didn’t have anything to make himself look presentable. What was he expecting? He glared at her and that stone cold simper stayed on her face. God, how he’d love to just tear that little fake smirk right off. As she shoved past him, he imagined taking a handful of his explosives and doing some real damage.

Instead of doing what he desperately wanted to, though, he went downstairs and got started on creating whatever he could to look okay out of the scraps of clothes he didn’t wear anymore. He normally wasn’t the type for big fancy dances. The amount of swanky, greedy bastards leering at the young wives of other old bastards was always enough to make him want to hurl. This time, though, he found himself curious about the prince. He had thought that the royal bastard would never show his face.

He didn’t think much of it, and he instead let his excitement build up. He felt proud about the fact that what he was creating now was turning out pretty damn good. As his mice and bug friends hopped and crawled up on his dingy desk, he looked at them with a lazy grin.

“What? Are ya gonna help me?” he asked, giggling to himself. They just stared at him. “Thought so.”

He kept working on his outfit for just a little longer, rushing through the little details as the sun began to set. They would definitely be leaving soon. He hopped out of the clothes he was wearing then, shimmying into his new outfit. It was a little tight, and it felt sort of stiff, but he still thought he looked pretty damn good in his creation.

He hopped up the stairs two at a time, ready to go. As he presented himself to his step family, he felt his chest puff up and his grin grow right before they started laughing. Then he just felt himself shrink. Mei sauntered up to him, wearing what he had to begrudgingly agree was a pretty outfit. A very, very pale blue strapless dress with white sparkles near the hem and a sheer white shawl paired with it. Her makeup matched the unattached look on her face, blue and icy.

“Oh, dear, those clothes just won’t do!” she exclaimed. “They’re all torn and ragged. You could never present yourself to the prince like this. Not to mention the smell!” She pinched her nose and waved her other hand for good measure, really finishing off his confidence about as swiftly as usual. “No, no, you simply can’t go like this. But, you can get started on your chores like you should have earlier.” The faux smile melted, the familiar glare returning. “I want this house in top shape by the time we come back.”

Jamison wanted to either curse, yell, cry, attack her, or all of the above. Instead, he obediently dipped his head. “Yes, ma’am.”

It wasn’t until she and the other two bastards left that he let himself get angry. Really, really angry. Angry enough to yell, angry enough to hit the wall so hard that he felt his fist go through the wall. As he looked at the hole in the drywall he had just made, he just got madder.

“Oh, fuckin’ great!” He shouted to no one but himself, throwing his hands up in the air. “Just another thing ta fix!”

Unbelievable. He stormed away and stomped down the stairs to his room, still shaking and trembling, tears forming in his eyes. He didn’t care that they were such dickheads, that was easy enough to get over when he remembered that he wasn’t exactly the sweetest peach either, but to deprive him of an experience like this? Downright evil. He got the urge to make them some tea with a little something extra in it when they got back, just to be free of them.

He knew he wouldn’t. He’d dreamed of them choking and gripping at their throats as his own hands gripped around them, or being bedridden and left to rot as a “unknown illness” brought on by a little extra something in their food took over them so many times, but he never went through with it. He didn’t know why, maybe he knew he wouldn’t know what to do without any direction or without anyone to guide him. He hated this family - if you could even really call it that - but he knew he would be far from better off without them.

He crawled into bed and pulled the blanket over his head, facing the wall, no longer wanting to let himself think. For a split second, Mei crossed his mind with a fearful shiver down his bent spine. In the end he decided that she could, to put it simply, fuck herself with a piece of barbed wire. He was tired and he wanted to sleep. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t get the thoughts about the ball out of his head. He wanted to go, more than he had really wanted anything in a long time. He knew he had never had a choice, but that didn’t stop him from dreaming he could maybe be able to attend.

He felt himself starting to cry as a faint tinkling noise filled the room. He wondered if his ears were just ringing until he felt a soft hand gently pet his hair, a sweet voice humming to him tenderly. He sat up, turning around and finding himself awed at the sight of a beautiful woman with blonde hair tied casually behind her head and dressed in a floor length sparkling white and gold dress with a black sash around her hips.

“Who tha _fuck_ are you?” he asked immediately, ready to fight this lady if need be.

She looked at him strangely, as though she hadn’t expected that reaction. Clearing her throat, she regained her motherly expression and put her hand on Jamison’s, staring in his eyes and letting her other hand rest over her heart.

“I’m your fairy godmother,” she said, her saccharine tone starting to get under his skin. “I’m here to help you make your dreams come true.”

“What do ya mean?” he eyed her curiously, considering the idea that he may have actually gone insane. Either that or someone had snuck into the house. Either way, he was curious.

“I know that you have desperately wished to go to the ball, and I’m here to get you ready for it.”

“Roight, and I’m the fuckin’ king of England.” He snorted, turning away from her and laying on his side again, covering himself with the blanket.

The fairy godmother was getting irritated. She hadn’t expected him to be so rude. Oh well, might as well show him just how serious she was. She grabbed the blanket and yanked it off, causing him to sit back up again and glare daggers at her as he cursed at her.

“Now we can get to work,” she said, ignoring his filthy mouth as that sweet smile crossing her pink lips. “Get up. We need to get everything ready.”

He grumbled, but with the blanket out of reach, he decided that he might as well get up and follow her. He wasn’t in the mood to get up and out of bed over and over, especially since he thought this crazy woman may actually continuously take the blanket off of him so he would get up. Besides, he was curious as to just how she would get him ready for a ball he knew he wouldn’t be attending. He wondered briefly if he should instead be wondering how she got in, but he couldn’t find the will inside himself to care about that.

“Okay, first thing we’ll need is a carriage. Now, all we need for that is a...a…” She looked around the yard confusedly, leaving Jamison even more curious as to what it was she was looking for. “I’m sorry, would you happen to have a pumpkin around here at all?”

That threw the blonde man for a loop. “A pumpkin? The hell do you need a pumpkin for?”

“It’s meant to be for your carriage, but...oh, well, we can just find something else that works.” She gave him an unsure smile and he felt steadily unsure about what was happening.

Ten minutes later and all they could find that would be suitable was a trash can. The fairy godmother took a deep, slightly impatient breath.

“Your family has nothing else we can use?” she asked, looking over at Jamison and crossing her arms. He shrugged and she groaned, rubbing at her temple with one hand. “Okay, I guess this will have to do.”

She reached into the sash of her long gown and pulled out a thin stick. Jamison raised a brow and watched her as she pointed it at the trash can, muttering a few strange words the young man didn’t understand. He waited for her to be done chanting and waving around her stick and for him to finally get the proper confirmation that at least one of them was in fact insane. Then a thin line of what looked like glitter flew out of the wand and surrounded the trash can. It began to grow larger, and then change into a rectangular yellow horse carriage. It didn’t smell too great, but it looked fantastic, especially considering what it looked like before. No one would even be able to guess what it had been made from.

“Hooley dooley!” he shouted, walking up to it and admiring the work. He couldn’t wait to ride in it. “How’d ya do that?”

“Magic,” the fairy godmother said, smiling and appreciating the change in Jamison’s attitude. “Now we need some horses. Do you have any we can use to pull the carriage?”

“No,” Jamison replied with a bit of a sigh. Then a look of realization crossed his features as his face brightened. “Oh, wait roight there!” he shouted as he ran back into the house.

He dashed downstairs and found all of his rodent friends, carefully cradling them in his arms before running back upstairs and out of the house, where the fairy godmother was waiting for him. When she got a good look at what he had brought her, she looked at the mice strangely.

“What are you doing with those?” she asked, her tone sounding almost scared.

He looked at her like it should have been obvious. “Ya turned a fuckin’ trash can into a horse carriage, I’m pretty sure you can figure this out.”

“Jesus, you really have nothing for me to really work with,” she muttered to herself, staring at the mice. She sighed yet again, rolling her shoulders and getting her wand ready. “Alright, well, set the little guys down.”

Then she stepped back a little bit, the mice looking up at Jamison curiously. He assured them that they would be alright, and then looked to his fairy godmother and nodded. The sparkles from before came out of the wand again and wrapped themselves around the mice. At first, they grew. They grew larger until their paws morphed into hooves, and their dirty greyish brown fur looked sleek and clean, and their fleshy tails changed to long black hairs. The same happened to their heads, and even their faces changed to that of horses. They still squeaked like mice, but it was quiet enough that it wouldn’t be noticeable.

He marveled at the sight, walking towards his new horses and putting his hand on one of their snouts and scratching carefully. It leaned into his hand and he giggled.

“This is fuckin’ amazing,” he said with a cheery laugh. He turned around to look at the fairy godmother again. “What’re you gonna do next?”

She was smiling again, and she took a breath, looking almost afraid to answer.

“Well, now it’s your turn.”

He grinned and she tiredly smiled in return. She’d had to be creative the first two tries, but at least now she knew he’d be pretty easily impressed. She readied her wand and pointed it at Jamison, muttering the magic words and watching his expression light up as his clothes changed and contorted until he was covered in a big sky blue dress with a huge puffy skirt and light blue gloves and accents. She wondered if blue was his color, but with the way he beamed and twirled around in excitement, she knew he didn’t care.

He danced over to her and pulled her into a tight hug, much to her surprise. When he pulled his head back he had tears dotting his eyes and a grin on his face.

“Thank ya so much,” he said.

When she smiled this time, it felt warm, genuine, and loving. He felt wrapped up in it and it made a happy tear slide down his cheek. She took her soft hand and cupped his cheek, wiping away the tear with her thumb.

“Now now, you can’t go to the ball crying like that,” she said, gesturing towards the carriage, the horses now strapped to it and ready to go. “Go on, now. Enjoy yourself, have fun.”

He wiped away his tears and sniffed, the grin growing even more, making her question how that was even possible. Then he opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and kept on grinning as he thanked her again and again before turning around and climbing into the carriage. He wondered how he was gonna get there until he heard a twinkling sound, and then suddenly there was a driver in the front of the carriage. He kept on grinning as the driver got the horses to go, and then he was on his way to the castle. He hadn’t been this excited in years.

It felt so fucking good when he saw the castle appear over the horizon.

_End of chapter_


	3. The Ball

The castle was getting nearer and nearer, and Jamison was getting more exhilarated the more he looked at it. Just as they were getting close to the grand doors, the carriage was stopped. He looked around trying to figure out why he wasn’t moving anymore until the door beside him opened. For the second time that day, he braced himself to fight. When the fairy godmother stepped in and sat across from him, he relaxed, though he was rather miffed at the interruption.

“The ’ell are ya doin’?” Jamison snapped as he got impatient quickly. “We was just about to get to the castle!”

“I’m sorry,” the godmother said as she took a deep breath. She looked winded, as though she had rushed to get to him. “It’s just that in the middle of all your preparation I’d forgotten to tell you about the most important part of this spell.”

Jamison groaned. “Oh, of course there’s a fuckin’ catch.” He crossed his arms and then crossed his legs underneath the skirt. “Alroight, what is it?”

She looked around as though she was trying to find the right words. Eventually she just closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then reopened them slowly to look at Jamison again. He shrank a little at the seriousness in her stare. When she spoke, her voice was firm.

“This spell wears off at midnight. When the spell wears off, everything you’ve been gifted with now will return to the way it was.” As she finished, she took another deep breath and some of the tension between them relaxed. She put her hand on Jamison’s knee and gave it a little comforting pat. “Please, enjoy yourself.”

The young man didn’t say anything in reply, instead staring down at where her hand had touched his knee and giving her a simple goodbye as she got up and climbed out of the carriage. He didn’t snap out of his empty thoughts until she told the driver to continue on to the castle. Then he shook himself out of whatever funk he had gotten into and stuck his head out of the window of the carriage, looking at the enormous clock that was nestled in the busiest part of town. He had a couple hours, and that was when he was late. He’d be fine, he’d have fun, and Mei, Hanzo, and Genji would never know.

Once he reached the castle gates he was giddy again, practically hopping out of the carriage and bowing to his driver with a dramatic flourish, and the driver tipped his hat in return. Then the blonde turned back around and hopped right up the stairs, his anticipation growing with every step.

~~~

He didn’t know there would be so many steps, and hadn’t let himself think about it until he was out of breath and sweating like he’d run a marathon. Still, he pushed himself to go to the ballroom where everyone was mingling and speaking with one another, fancy drinks and plates filled with weird looking food in their hand. He disregarded these partygoers, searching around the room for some kind of table, looking for something to drink. He wanted water, needed it. He went on a wild goose hunt for the stuff, looking everywhere he could.

Once he found some ritzy bottles of carbonated water, he felt blessed. He grabbed an armful and sneaked off by the entrance to start drinking them all. It wasn’t quite as satisfying as normal water would have been, but it was much better than the boiled well water he’d always had at home. He especially liked the way the bubbles fizzed in his throat, tickling him and causing him to giggle like a madman.

God, he was laughing. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this good. He actually started to try and think back and remember but his mother’s face slipped into his thoughts. He shook his head and forced her visage out of his mind. Not the time for that.

Ah well, he felt this way some time when she was alive. Didn’t really matter now, he was already enjoying himself and he couldn’t wait to try out everything those rich assholes were always bragging about, he just had to rest for a minute. For the moment, he kept himself in place, at least for the most part. He paced in place and hummed as he bounced his foot instinctively, but he managed to keep his eyes on the crowd to people watch.

There were lots of pretty looking people here, but he towered over a considerable amount of the attendees. He wasn’t shocked or self conscious about it, he had lived with his height long enough to be okay with it. It was actually a pretty good thing, especially since he could use it to his advantage, listening in on the other attendee’s conversations. The problem was that he couldn’t find anyone that he was really interested in talking to. Everyone around him all tittered with laughter and glowed with wealth. As he eavesdropped on the little cliques he found that everyone around him was very, very boring. Everyone was talking about money, property, marriage, or just anything that was basic and stupid. He got very bored very quickly listening to it, but he didn’t know what else to do.

As he finished off his last bottle of water and threw it into the trash, he wondered how worth it it was to actually come here. He appreciated everything the fairy godmother had done for him, especially the gown he was in now. He loved how it hid his peg leg, even if his walk was still a little funny. No one gawked at him with pity in their eyes when he limped over to the food and dessert table, and he loved it. He felt normal for the first time in years, which is nothing he would have expected himself to want a year ago.

Then again, he probably wouldn’t have seen himself eating up such fancy slop like he hadn’t eaten in days. Not every piece of finger food was all that good, though, but he just spat that out and got something else that was better. Everything that was good was in large supply, so he was sure to get in as much as he could. He almost wished that the fairy godmother had given him a purse so he could bring some of it home.

While he stuffed his face full of chocolates and little slices of meat, he glanced around. Everyone was either ignoring him entirely or giving him strange looks. He then looked beneath him and saw a mess of all the food he had spat out once he deemed it too gross to eat. He almost felt embarrassed, but then the lights dimmed and there was a slow, romantic beat that began to play. The beat turned to a soft melody as the other musicians in the band joined in, and Jamison realized that it was time for the waltz.

He grinned as he whipped his gaze around the crowd eagerly, looking for someone to dance with as the music finally picked up. He had been looking forward to this, finally getting a taste of the real fun of these huge swanky parties, and not just the taste of pastries and salami. He was rather disappointed when he realized that no one was going to pay him any mind, young women joining hands with their aging spouses. Jamison’s displeasure turned to disgust when he couldn’t help but to notice that the men were practically decomposing. He scrunched up his nose in revulsion. These gold diggers really had no regard for looks anymore, did they? 

He sighed as he leaned back against the food table, choosing to watch the other couples slowly swing around the expansive dance floor. He envied them more than he thought he really should. They all seemed fairly happy, holding each other in their thin arms as they floated gracefully across the floor, swaying to the music that drifted around the room. He wanted to be more like them, since he was already a different person for the night.

He watched the couples for some time before sighing and getting up from his position on the table, looking at the doors longingly. Just as he was seriously thinking of just giving up and going home, the music changed to something more royal sounding. Nothing like blaring trumpets, but it was enough to make it obvious that something big was about to go down. He gulped the bits of leftover slices of salami as quickly as he could, causing a tiny chunk to get stuck in his windpipe. He immediately started hacking and coughing, which made everyone around him in the now quiet ballroom glare. He gave an apologetic grin as he continued to wheeze.

When everyone decided to just ignore him, they all brought their attention to the stage where the band sat. In its large space, a large man appeared, his mouth hidden behind a white handkerchief. Jamison didn’t know that by looking at him, he was too far away. Instead, he heard it through the chatter that immediately spread through the crowd. He could kind of see the guy, but with his slowly failing eyesight, all he could really see was a large figure of some sort. Clearly male, but no details to work with.

But from the way people were talking about him, Jamison wished he was a lot closer so he could get a better look. People were mentioning how scary he looked, and even of some strange scars on his face. As he began to piece together what the man may have looked like, Jamison found himself even more curious. He was tempted to find him once he got off stage, thinking he was somehow involved with the band.

Then an official-looking guard type guy stood just next to the stage, his voice booming over the tittering crowd.

“And now, Prince Mako Rutledge!”

As the trumpets sounded off, Jamison stared at the stage as the large man bowed professionally. Oh. So that was the prince. He hadn’t exactly expected that, but hell, it definitely made things more interesting. At least until all of the suitable bachelorettes and bachelors were told to gather around the stage to present themselves to the prince. Jamison was tempted to go and join the rest of the single crowd.

As he looked around, though, he noticed that there wasn’t much room, and he didn’t want to waste time. He didn’t have any view of a clock anywhere, and he didn’t want to wait around to stand before the prince and bow. Not to mention the fact that they were calling out the names of everyone that stepped before him. Knowing his step family was here, he didn’t want to risk them finding out he was here as well.

So, instead of meeting the man he had been so curious about, he resigned himself to stuffing his face full of more of the little bites of food on the table. He chewed loudly and ate quickly, gaining the attention of some of the couples in the back. They glared at his rudeness and he ignored them. If he couldn’t meet the prince, he’d do the second best thing. Eat until he couldn’t fit into this gown anymore.

Then suddenly there was a chain of gasps coming from behind him. A shiver ran up his spine as he felt all eyes on him, and he turned around just as he had stuffed even more chocolates and pastries into his mouth.

He met eyes with the prince, who had walked over to him and was now looming over him. The blonde grinned, unsure of what else to do. As he did that, chocolate mixed with drool dripped down his chin, mainly due to his teeth clamping down on the sweets. He didn’t really feel all that bad about it until the prince - what was his name again? - began to laugh. Then again, that laugh drove Jamison just a little insane. It was deep, and it rumbled in his chest as though the ground was shaking from the sheer force of it. Jamison wanted to die listening to that laugh, even if it was mocking him.

As the prince suddenly became more serious, he thought he just might. He ate up whatever was left in his mouth and forced himself to swallow. There was an almost painful silence that was only broken by Jamison’s nervous, choked giggles and the prince’s disappointed sigh. It took a moment for people to start chattering again, talking about how rude this strange guest was, how the prince was probably going to have him thrown out.

The prince was very clearly ignoring them, but Jamison couldn’t help but to feel just a little defensive. He waited for the prince to order him out, or to at least ask how Jamison had gotten in when he clearly didn’t belong. But none of that ever happened. Instead, the prince handed Jamison some napkins, waiting for the blonde to wipe his face clean of the mess staining his cheeks before the music slowly picked up again. When the melody swelled and lifted the mood of the room significantly, the prince held out his large right hand. Jamison stared at it for a moment, unsure of what to say.

“What the ’ell are ya doin’?” he asked.

The prince looked just a tad taken aback before he chuckled again, the sound of a cough following suit. Jamison took the time to watch as almost all of the other couples started up their dance again. When the prince got his attention back, he stared up at the behemoth, very clearly interested in whatever the royal would say.

“Dance,” he replied simply.

Jamison swallowed hard at the sound of the prince’s voice. It was just as deep and rumbling and powerful as his laugh. He wondered briefly if he was in love before he put his left hand into the paw of what had to be the most attractive beast he’d ever seen. Then the prince’s left hand was on his hip, and it nearly covered it, even reaching up to this waist. Then he was swept away, the smell of chocolate still tickling his nose, and the stares of the flabbergasted guests ignored.

It was nice, being able to dance like this. The way his skirt fluttered beneath him made it a little less obvious that he was a less than graceful dancer, especially with his peg leg making him wobble more than usual. It was surrounded by piles of ruffles and petticoats and it was trying to keep up, but it just made him stumble and step on the prince’s feet with his left foot as he tried to avoid slipping up with his right foot as much as possible.

As he danced, though, he didn’t think much about his prosthetics. For the first time in too long, he felt relaxed and happy. They danced around the ballroom with more ease than Jamison would have expected them to. The prince was an excellent dancer, carrying a lot of their weight without breaking a sweat.

It felt nice, being guided like this. They twirled and dipped and floated their way to the balcony, where they stopped to take a break. The prince looked like he was having trouble breathing, so they were now standing by the railing, the moon shining down on them, creating a rather romantic scene. Jamison looked over at the prince as he regained his composure.

“Y’didn’t really last all that long, mate,” Jamison chuckled, leaning against the railing, still watching the prince.

The larger man looked over at the blonde. “Asthma.”

“Huh. Wouldn’t have expected that.”

“Most don’t.”

Silence. Jamison hated silence. Especially silence that was already feeling this awkward.

“So...you think you’ll last any longer, old timer?” he asked, grinning.

“I’ll last longer than you,” the prince replied with a bit of a snort. “You dance like you just got shot in the leg.”

“Oi!” Jamison cried defensively, jumping away from the railing and stepping towards the prince. “I dance jus’ fuckin’ fine, thank ya very much!”

Another snort. “Right, right. Course you do.”

The blonde fumed. They were having such a lovely time, why was the prince making fun of him now? Of course he had started it, but this was the _prince_! He had to be above the petty humor of the commonfolk.

Then again, Jamison wasn’t exactly a part of the commonfolk tonight, was he? No, no, tonight, he was practically royalty. His pride puffed back up again, and he didn’t feel as angry anymore. No, tonight, they were equals. Tonight, Jamison was someone important. Someone that he would never be again. He needed to take advantage of this opportunity.

He stared up at the prince, really taking in the sight of him for the first time that night. He was _big_. He had broad shoulders, long hair, large scars between his eyes, and hell, even his hands could probably fit around Jamison’s head. The blonde found himself just staring now, realizing that the prince was just his type. Big, mean, scary looking motherfucker. It was practically a dream.

The prince looked over and caught him staring, suddenly stiffening up as those he were uncomfortable.

“What’re you staring at?” he snapped, his tone impatient.

It was Jamison’s turn to be surprised, then he blushed, not sure how to phrase it properly. He fidgeted with his hands and stared at the moon again, mouth opening and closing as though he were trying to say something. The prince kept looking at him, his dark eyes boring holes in Jamison’s newfound confidence. The blonde chastised himself for being so awkward. He was the only who said they were on equal grounds. Why the hell couldn’t he talk to the mountain of a man now?

“Uh...I-I was just thinkin’ that ya...ya look hot as all ’ell.”

Oh for the love of God.

He couldn’t believe it. He had just called the prince hot, to his face. His face burned bright red and he began to giggle and laugh nervously as the man in question stared down at him curiously. Jamison looked away as he tried to think of the best way not to get thrown out of the castle for this.

“I-I mean...ya look…” What could be said? Jamison had made a huge ass out of himself in front of largeness himself. There was no going back now.

“You look good, too.”

The blonde froze, only moving to look up at the prince. The blush on his face seemed to only darken, and he wondered how exactly that was possible. This was insane. This was crazy.

This was the best night of Jamison’s life.

His mobility came back to him achingly slowly, his thin lips turning up in one of his shit eating grins. The prince tensed a tad, as though he was waiting for Jamison to attack him.

“Oh, so ya fancy the crazy arsehole in the pretty dress, do ya?” he asked, his giggles slipping through with every word. The prince relaxed.

This had to be some kind of fantastic dream. Maybe he accidentally ate some of the weird mushrooms he’d found in the forest the other day and he was hallucinating. Maybe he had tripped and fell on his head and knocked himself out and he was in a coma. Maybe he was just the luckiest man in the world. Either way, he really didn’t care. He was having the time of his life, and now he felt as though he had the prince in the palm of his hand, and he wasn’t going to let go any time soon.

Then the prince chuckled. “Maybe.”

Suddenly the tables turned and Jamison melted like butter. That damn laugh, that damn voice, that damn face, that damn _prince_. It was too much. He wasn’t gonna stop now, though. Might as well play the game as long as this beast was playing too.

“Well, I’m not sure ya’d like me as much as ya think,” Jamison sighed, faking sadness with a grin on his face as he leaned back against the railing. “After all, I am just a simple man who just wants his salad tossed.”

“Good thing I’m a vegetarian.”

Oh, he was good. Very, very good. Jamison felt himself heat up again, but this time it spread past his cheeks. He looked over at the prince, who was staring down at him expectantly. His eyebrows knit together as he tried to understand why the royal would be looking at him like that until it dawned on him. His eyebrows raised and his nervous giggles snuck up his throat again.

“Wait, ya don’t want ta do this right _now_ , do ya?!” the blonde asked just a little too loudly.

“Not if you’re just talk,” the prince replied simply.

Now this was a challenge. Jamison’s competitive spirit rose up and he puffed out his chest as he poked the prince’s thick chest with his left index finger. “Now listen ’ere, ya cheeky cunt, I’m not the royal blueblooded arsehole ’ere. Ya’ve got an image to maintain, don’tcha? Don’t think ya would wanna ruin that by fuckin’ around with lil’ ole me.”

The prince snorted. “Figured you’d be afraid to do anything,” he said, voice sounding irritatingly smug.

Jamison felt himself fuming yet again. In a fit of temporary blinding rage, he grabbed the prince’s arm and tugged at his sleeve. He knew he wasn’t strong enough to actually move him, but he was a little surprised when the prince followed close behind, led by Jamison’s skinny hand. The blonde hadn’t thought he’d get this far, and he didn’t exactly know what to do now. He was completely unfamiliar with the castle and hadn’t actually thought the prince would be so up to fool around during his own party.

Ah well, if he was gonna live it up as much as he could tonight, he may as well do this. Not like it would be the dumbest thing he’d ever done. A quick glance to his prosthetics reminded him of that.

Shaking his head of those thoughts, he led the prince back into the ballroom as, yet again, his anger fairly quickly melted away. Now he was just excited and confused. Where could they go? He scanned the room to look for somewhere to go, maybe even a stairway to sneak up so they could find a proper room. He cheered a bit when he saw someone open the door to what looked like a coat closet.

“Oi, princey, how ’bout there?” Jamison asked as he looked back to the prince and grinned, pointing to the coat closet.

“Good ’nuff,” the royal replied, shrugging his shoulders.

Then the prince did something Jamison hadn’t quite been expecting. He wrapped his big hands around the blonde’s body, but where they had been before. They made their way through the crowd with no one paying them any mind aside from the occasional offended lady or gentleman who they bumped into. Jamison wondered why the prince was doing this until he realized that he was dancing with the blonde again to make their voyage across the ballroom a little more subtle.

“Smart fucker, ain’tcha?” Jamison snickered, trying to keep his voice down. “Guess ya really don’t want that image o’ yours ruined by lil’ ol me.” He batted his eyelashes as the prince rolled his eyes. “I don’ mind, I know what it’s like, bein’ all fancy ’n shit. Ya can’t do anything ya want to, or else all these damn drongos ’n grey hairs act like ya just shat on their faces.”

That made the prince laugh a bit. Jamison swooned. Then the royal leaned in to his ear, the heavy breathing on the blonde’s neck making him gasp ever so slightly.

“They can’t judge if they don’t hear you,” he muttered, the low rumbling of his voice practically melting the blonde in his big arms.

What exactly did that mean? Just what was this guy planning on doing? Jamison felt like he was going to find out really soon, and he knew he was going to love it. For the moment, though, he let the prince just lay his head in the crook of the smaller man’s neck and shoulder, just letting him breathe and whisper sweet nothings into his ear. Jamison adored what he said, saying things like how he thought he was so pretty, that he hoped he was a better fuck than he was a dancer.

Eventually, they were inching towards the door. Jamison’s spine tingled as he got steadily more excited. He was about to bugger the prince inside the castle and neither of them were drunk. That godmother had worked some real miracles on him, hadn’t she?

Oh, wait, the godmother. Hadn’t she said something important? He felt the need to check the time before he was swiftly pulled inside of a dark room by a large pair of hands. He snapped out of his thoughts to find that, oh, right, he was still with the monarch. His grin grew as the door was quietly shut behind him, and he was physically turned around and yanked into a kiss.

A soft sound slipped out of his mouth as his own thin mouth met with the thick lips in front of him. They moved with finesse, but also managed to devour him in the most savage way. He felt something scratching at his bottom lip and it didn’t take him long to figure out that it was a pair of teeth. He wrapped his arms around the prince’s thick neck before he was picked up by the ass and moved through the coats and against a nearby wall. The two of them were pretty much out of sight. It helped that most of the coats were so dark that you could barely notice the lump coming from behind them, especially if you were just throwing your coat in.

Jamison didn’t think about this, though, as he gripped the prince’s hair with his left hand, tugging out its tie and letting it slip through his bony fingers. The blonde couldn’t see a thing in the dark closet, so he used his left hand to feel out an image in his mind. The silver hair he held was soft as it fell across his skin, the larger man’s stubble rough on his palm as his hand ventured the royal’s face. He pulled away from their kiss for a moment to breathe, meanwhile continuing to feel around the prince’s cheeks, trying to envision what he looked like.

“Ya sure got an interestin’ mug,” Jamison mused, not a single trace of mockery in his tone.

The prince stiffened as one of his large hands came up and pulled away the blonde’s hand. “Shut up.”

The command didn’t have any effect at all, and Jamison just grinned. “Ooo, aren’t you the demandin’ one? What, ya don’t like me pretty voice?” He snickered before the prince dropped down to his knees, still holding the smaller man up. “Woah, what’re ya doin’ down there, mate?”

He didn’t get any reply, but the prince did slip under the skirt of the blonde’s dress. Jamison gasped a little as the prince disappeared - as though he hadn’t disappeared as soon as they got into the dark little closet - beneath his dress and was right by his groin, his lips achingly close. He could feel the prince’s hot breath against his briefs, and he cursed himself for wearing any at all. He should have figured he’d be getting lucky tonight, even if he may not expected being _this_ lucky.

He was about to attempt to reach down and pull down his briefs before he felt the prince beat him to the punch. His legs were moved from the prince’s shoulders to the ground and he tried to steady himself. This was harder to do than he thought, mainly because he was still riled up and his legs were trembling, and his prosthetic leg felt funny. Though he stopped thinking about his peg leg as soon as his briefs were tugged down his skinny legs,

He gasped a bit when they were taken off completely, feeling the prince’s hot breath finally hit his bare skin. He felt just a little self conscious when the prince didn’t say anything, and he wanted to say something, just to break the damn silence. Then his legs were brought back up over the prince’s shoulders and the prince’s hands were gripping his hips.

As the strong fingers squeezed, Jamison gasped. If the monarch kept this up, he’d bruise the tender skin he was pressing down on and he would probably cause the blonde to die of pure bliss. Still, Jamison was getting impatient, even with the painfully delightful tease of the prince’s gripping fingers.

“H-hey,” he said, trying to be quiet beneath his shaky voice. “Y-ya gonna do something or what?”

A chuckle from beneath the skirt sends a shiver up Jamison’s spine and more of that nearly teasingly hot breath on his stiffening length. Then he felt a warm hand - or at least as much of the prince’s huge hand could fit - wrap around his cock. He gasped as he was immediately fondled, the fingers holding him beginning to move in a way he hadn’t quite expected. A thumb ran over his slit, the other hand gripping his hip to the point where Jamison knew it was going to leave a bruise.

He took a moment to stop thinking about the fact that he was being jerked off by the prince inside of a coat closet to let his mind swim in the pleasure. He thought about how stuffy the room they were in was starting to feel, how rough and calloused and lovely the hand on his cock felt, how he couldn’t quite squeeze his legs together out of habit because of how fucking _big_ the prince was. He tried, though, and the constant reminder of their sizes made him all tingly all over.

Soon, though, the hand was taken away, which made the blonde whine. Then the whine was cut off by a moan as the prince’s mouth replaced his hand. This was entirely new to Jamison, especially since he’d only really experienced his own left hand. He was suddenly far more aware of the heat in their small space as sweat began to dot at his brow.

His mind would dart from being fully aware of the long, warm, wet tongue licking up and down his length to the fog in his mind clouding up his thoughts just from the feeling he got from the prince’s mouth. He hadn’t even taken Jamison’s length into his mouth yet and the blonde was already squirming and moaning. Of course these rather indecent sounds made the prince pull away for a moment and chuckle, his thick fingers still working on jerking and twisting around Jamison’s cock.

Jamison had never even thought to tug or touch himself in such a way when he’d faced many heated nights alone. He had also never felt this...this _need_ for more. He felt like he would do anything just to have more. His cheeks were bright red, his legs were trembling and desperately trying to bring themselves together, his thoughts were swimming, his skin was on fire, and he wanted - no, _needed_ more.

He opened his mouth to say something before the door to the closet opened. The blonde’s mouth shut as the prince’s mouth finally took in all of Jamison’s length with ease. Jamison slapped his hand over his mouth, but not before he shuddered and groaned at a teasing suck coming from the prince. Oh, that _bastard_. Jamison’s squeal was just barely muffled beneath his skinny hand, his eyes shutting tight as he tried to focus on staying quiet. He had a very brief moment where he wondered whether or not he really cared about the two of them getting caught.

He took a deep, shuddering breath as he tried to listen to whoever had walked in was doing. He heard the stranger make a curious noise before apparently giving up on whatever thoughts he was having and shutting the door. The blonde didn’t move his hand from his mouth, not wanting to risk another person walking into their space and hearing them. It didn’t help at all that the prince was somehow so damned good at this, what with his thick lips practically kissing his pelvis as they neared the base of his cock.

The royal made some noises that the blonde knew were noises a prince should never make. Wet, almost gagging sounds. God, hearing that - even though it was muffled beneath his large skirt - was one of the hottest things he’d ever heard. Just thinking that he was capable of making this beast gag was enough to make him explode right there. But he held together and let the prince do what he was clearly good at, leaving Jamison to squirm against the wall, practically suffocating in the heat and pleasure of it all.

The prince was not shy with his tongue. When he would take Jamison’s cock out of his mouth, his tongue would be on it almost instantly, teasing the tip, running along the base. Then his mouth would surround the tip again, sucking lightly and tonguing the slit. Jamison felt like he was going to burst when the prince began to experiment with his teeth. He didn’t bite, at least he didn’t bite _hard_. He gently nibbled on the base and used the hand that wasn’t gripping the blonde’s hip and holding him against the wall to fondle his balls.

“Fuck, fuck, shit, _fuck_ ,” Jamison cursed from behind his hand, biting into the skin. His canines dug into the flesh and drew blood, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t think properly, his thoughts all melting together and causing him to act out of instinct.

“Filthy mouth,” the prince muttered from under the skirt, just barely audible. “Suits you.”

It wasn’t much longer after that before Jamison felt a familiar tightness in his stomach. “H-hey, I’m not gonna be much longer.”

Instead of the prince pulling away and just finishing him off with his hand like the blonde had offhandedly expected him too, he took in the tip of Jamison’s cock into his mouth and sucked. The blonde squealed and immediately began to tremble and double over, gripping at his skirt in a vain attempt to grasp the prince’s back. He could feel the fabric tear a bit at the force of his grip, but he didn’t care. Just like the blood that still stained his skin and teeth, he couldn’t focus on his soon to be ruined gown. All he could think about was the prince’s hot mouth.

He never thought he would actually think this, but Jamison could die happy like this. Pressed against a wall with his cock buried in the mouth that belonged to none other but the goddamn _prince_. Not to mention that this was his first time being blown, and _damn_ , was it a fuckin’ grand first time.

He finally came, his hands finally finding where he believed the prince’s head to be and gripping tight. His voice cracked as he moaned, his eyes rolling back and drool leaking from his mouth. Through the fog in his mind, he heard the familiar ringing of bells coming from the clock tower in the middle of town. He didn’t care, though. He had lost control of himself long ago, and now he didn’t care what happened. He just wanted to stay like this forever, bathing in his afterglow, his thighs being lovingly stroked by the prince’s warm hands before his legs were lowered to the ground and the prince crawled out of the blonde’s dress.

The bell kept ringing. Jamison laughed then, his voice a tad hoarse and shaky and just a little bit bitter. “Well...isn’t that just fuckin’ great.”

Apparently the prince didn’t hear him as he wiped his mouth. He pushed the coats aside and held out his free hand. “C’mon, let’s go back out there. They’ll notice I left.”

Before Jamison could say anything in reply, the door opened and there was a large hand on his back, pushing him out. He stumbled for a moment, noticing that something about his peg leg didn’t feel right. It wobbled as though it was out of place, and Jamison was about to readjust it, but then he remembered it was midnight, and he was on the opposite side of the ballroom, which meant that he would have to force his way through the thick crowd just to get to the doors. He looked for the prince to tell him goodbye as quickly as he could, but the large man couldn’t be found.

Great, just great. He had to leave unannounced. He didn’t dwell on it too much, though, knowing he had to leave. He already felt different, as though he was changing again. He pushed the other party goers out of his way, ignoring their offended cries and hobbling as quickly as he could. Meanwhile, his peg leg kept feeling as though it was getting more and more loose, wiggling and sliding around his stump. He ignored it still, shoving and pushing and running until he was by the doors, finally escaping the ballroom, his adrenaline and his aftershocks making him tremble and whimper as he ran.

When he had finally gotten out, he closed the door and took a deep breath, yet again feeling that feeling of changing. When he looked down, his dress looked as though it were fading. Oh, not good at all. He started to run again, only stopping when he saw a crown flashing beside him. He backed up and looked at it, debating whether or not he should take it. Deciding that it would be a good momento on top of the fact that it was still very possible this could all be some weird wet dream, he snatched it and clutched it to his chest. He didn’t pay much mind to the way the gems on it dug into his chest rather painfully, trying to get out as quickly as possible.

When he heard the doors slamming open behind him, he glanced back and saw the prince looking for him, spotting him booking it down just a section of the grand staircase, his arms wrapped tight around something in front of his chest. The blonde was more than just a little hurt at the sight of the prince’s betrayed look. Still, he turned around and kept running. He heard the prince shout something - probably a curse - before he tripped and fell.

He felt his peg leg pop off as he clutched the crown even tighter to his chest. He tumbled down the stairs, his skirt flying every which way, a string of “ _fuck, shit, fuck_ ” leaving his mouth at a rapid pace in between grunts every time he slammed into a step. How he survived the fall down the staircase, he didn’t know. He looked around for his peg leg as soon as he stopped falling, his body sore and aching and stinging all over. He heard the prince climb down the stairs rather quickly, wheezing and huffing all of the way.

Jamison’s head was spinning and his vision was blurry on top of the pain radiating through his body, but he still got up and tried his best to run away. Of course that was much harder to do with a torn up ball gown and only one leg, but he still tried. He fell again just as he got outside, and he shouted a nondescript noise in frustration. Eventually he just gave up on running and crawled as quickly as he could, the ground scraping at his left arm, which was still holding on to the crown. He only held onto it at this point because it was far too late to take it back, especially with the appearance of some out of place glitter surrounding his carriage - which was now in front of him, something he was more than grateful for - and his bruised, beaten body.

He scrambled into the carriage, jumping inside on his one foot and yelling “Go! Go! Go!”

Off he went, into the night, back to his shit life with his shit family. He groaned and whined as he inspected himself. His gown looked like hell, shifted out of place and torn all over. Even the one glove he was able to wear was ripped to shreds. He muttered a colorful string of curses as the carriage bumped along, struggling to stay together. He looked back and couldn’t see the prince. It was probably better this way. It was easier to remember some weird bloke in a dress you blew in a closet before he ran off than it was to remember a two limbed servant.

He sighed and sat back in his seat, his tired and battered muscles relaxing for a single second before the carriage began to shrink and garbage began to pop up on the floor.

“Fuck!” he shouted before opening the door and jumping out.

He landed hard on the ground, crown still in his arms, somehow still intact. When his head stopped swimming he looked up and saw a trash can land on the ground with a loud banging sound, a swarm of rats running away from it and to him. He looked down at himself and found a bare, scratched, and bloody chest with a pair of dirty, worn shorts beneath it. He didn’t have his normal boot, and he felt even more naked and pathetic without his peg leg.

He looked around at the rats surrounding him, looking up at him curiously. He set the crown aside and picked them up, holding them to his chest. Their fur made his wounds sting and they would probably just cause more damage than anything else, but he needed them close. Tears began to fall down his face as the magic of the night and the adrenaline from the chase wore off and his pain got even worse.

Eventually he put his rats down, putting the crown snug on his head and getting on the ground, mustering up the will to weakly crawl home. By the time he got back to his tiny, decrepit house, the sun was already peaking over the horizon. He weakly reached up to the doorknob, lifted himself, and hopped inside. He was thankful that none of his step family was awake, and he went to the stairs to go to his room in the basement. He sat and slid down, not bothering with trying to walk anymore.

When he was downstairs, he heard his rats come in through their little holes in the wall as he climbed into his bed. He threw the cover over his head and fell asleep almost immediately, his fatigue from the long, arduous crawl home overwhelming any other senses at that moment. He dreamed of his night as the castle. 

_End of Chapter_


	4. The Chase

When Jamison woke up the next morning, his head was pounding and his entire body was in pain. His chest ached and stung when he breathed, and when he used his left hand to touch where he had been holding onto the crown, there were cuts that still slightly bled, especially with his movements. He struggled to sit up, every strained and bruised part of him telling him to lay back down and just let himself rot. He knew he needed to remember what happened the night before, especially since he still had his prosthetic arm and the crown on. It was also quite concerning that couldn’t see his peg leg anywhere, even in the dark lighting of his room.

He rubbed at his eyes to look around his dark room, his vision still rather blurry from sleep. Slowly, he eyes saw more, and he was suddenly thankful for the dimness of his room, or else his migraine would have only become even worse. He feared that he may throw up from the pain, but he still got up and shuffled over to the desk, where he knew he had some rather strong painkillers. He knew there would probably be some water upstairs, especially when he knew that his step family always insisted on having water around all the time, even if he was the only one getting it.

He opened the drawer and found the little dirty bottle inside, smeared with dirt and grease from all of the times he’d hastily opened it during the night when he was working on something and either felt random pains or hurt himself. He wondered briefly if they could be expired, but after a minute of trying to wipe away the grease to see, he got frustrated and just opened the cap. He shook the bottle until three little pills came out of the bottle, and he immediately popped them into his mouth so he could hold them without crushing them in his hand when he struggled upstairs.

He was still subconsciously waiting for his step family’s impatient call, and he was dreading it. He still had to clean off the wounds on his chest and pick out the little rocks that had gotten into them. He hoped he could get them all out, but he doubted it. Not when he hadn’t even thought of touching them before passing out.

His body still ached and yelled at him to lay down, but he forced himself to push past its cries as he crawled upstairs. This time, he was careful to keep his chest off the ground, not wanting to hurt himself any more. He briefly wondered if he could hurt himself more.

His condition now was going to get him scolded and questioned severely by his step mother. He was just thankful that they were all out, probably shopping for more shit to clutter the house with. He wondered if they bought useless furniture and knick knacks so often just to spite him and give him more to clean and take care of. He bitterly scoffed to himself when he thought that this was probably true.

When he got upstairs, he was happy to see that the bathroom door was open. He crawled inside and managed to prepare a pail of water and a decently clean rag for himself as he began to tend to his wounds.

~~~~~

Mako couldn’t understand why the blonde stranger had rushed away from his castle, and he wanted to wonder why the stranger had also stolen the crown, but that was a little more apparent. His obvious lack of manners made it clear that he was a peasant, but then that made his attire all the more confusing. His dress had been beautiful, his skin clear and clean. Hell, just about the only lack of royalty in his look were his prosthetics.

He looked over to his desk, where the prosthetic leg sat, unused and beat up. That was the only lead he had. There were so many heavily freckled blonde men in the town that even the stranger’s orange eyes didn’t help him at all. This stranger seemed to be a hermit of some kind. Great.

Mako turned his gaze away from the leg when a pair of guards appeared at the door way, saluting the prince as they approached him.

“Any updates on the search?” Mako asked, his tone impatient. They had been searching nearly all day now, and there were still no signs of him.

“None, your majesty,” one of the guards, a gruff looking older man with neat dark hair.

“Fantastic,” Mako muttered. He took a deep breath and turned back to the soldiers. “Continue the search. I want this man found.”

The guards nodded and ran off, and Mako knew why none of them questioned his persistence. None of them knew what he had done with the stranger, just that the crown had been stolen. Truth be told, Mako couldn’t care less about that crown, not when he couldn’t get those giant orange eyes and those desperate moans and squeals out of his mind. He could maybe understand the motives of the stranger if everything hadn’t flown by so fast.

It was driving him insane, thinking like this. He couldn’t put together what had happened, or what had led to this. They had danced, Mako had blown him in the coat closet, and then the stranger ran off.

Mako remembered how confused and hurt he felt when he realized the stranger had taken off. The prince had left for a moment to fetch them some drinks, and then he was already out of the ballroom doors. He was gone so quick. Had Mako done something wrong? Nothing about the way the stranger had acted really told him that. In fact, it had sounded - and felt, judging by the scratches all over the back of his shoulders and the slight ache in his head from his hair being gripped - like he had given pretty good head.

What had led to this? Did the stranger assume it would be a one time thing? Did Mako _want_ it to be a one time thing?

He thought about it for a moment, but when he felt his heart ache, he knew that, no, he didn’t want that. Somehow, he found himself genuinely attracted to the stranger and he wanted to see him again. He didn’t know why, but something about the blonde that had been shoving chocolates in his mouth when he strolled up to him made his heart feel race. And maybe the couple drinks he’d had beforehand had aided the feelings a little bit, he hadn’t felt this way since he was a teenager, when he’d developed a rather embarrassing crush on his royal instructor.

He pushed the memory aside, not wanting to focus on it for now. He had someone to find, even if the task was becoming damn near impossible. He grumbled angrily to himself as he desperately tried to remain hopeful. It was beyond frustrating to have to search like this, especially when it had seemed like the stranger had liked him too. What had gone wrong? Had he come on too strong? Did he overwhelm the stranger?

He needed to walk and clear his head. He stalked out of his chambers to wander the halls, seemingly unable to get the blonde out of his mind. He just couldn’t fathom what had happened. He wanted - no, _needed_ to know what had made the stranger just up and leave. He got angrier and angrier the longer this search went on, because the longer it took to find the blonde - who had probably most likely skipped town, a scenario he didn’t want to admit out loud - the more he doubted himself. He didn’t like to doubt himself.

He eventually found himself in the ballroom, having wandered there when he was lost in thought. He eyed the expansive, empty dance floor sadly, remembering all of the boring couples that had been here and all of the even more boring bachelors and bachelorettes. The stranger had been the most interesting thing at the whole party, the way he completely ignored the prince and focused on finger foods. Mako had found that refreshing, someone who wasn’t desperate to bed or marry him to try and grab at his money and power.

Though now it seems like all the blonde had wanted was his crown. Figures.

He roamed around the room, noting how quickly it had been cleaned up. It was as though it were just freshly finished. He almost wished it had been left the way it was once the dance was over. Maybe he could dig through the trash and the mess and find the answer to his questions. Maybe he could just look at all of the remains of the ball and relive the moments in his mind.

Though when he reached the coat closet he didn’t need much help with that. He stopped short, staring at the door. Tears stung at his eyes, threatening to fall as the memories of his time with the blonde flooded in. He felt pathetic, getting emotional over a damn coat closet. The pathetic feeling quickly turned to aggravation and shame as he threw his fist into the wood, nearly splitting it in half and getting splinters jabbed into his skin.

When he forced himself to calm down, he realized that a guard had rushed over to see what was happening. When he saw his prince standing in front of a wrecked looking coat closet that now sported a sizable hole in its door.

“Your Majesty?” the guard squeaked, trembling slightly.

_Deep breaths_ , Mako thought. _Deep breaths_. “Has the thief been found yet?” His voice sounded rougher than he had intended.

“N-no, sire. Not yet.”

It was seconds before an enraged roar burst from his chest and he stomped up the stairs, running into his chambers and grabbing the peg leg sitting on his desk. He thought about the time he had spent with that leg alone, tinkering with it to get his mind off the blonde. Naturally, it had barely worked.

Now he held it firmly in his fist as he threw on an official looking coat and gathered the group of the guards that had been ordered to watch over him. If his officials couldn’t find the stranger, he would just have to find him himself. 

The late autumn air outside was bitingly chilly, and it nipped at the prince’s thick cheeks. But the large man’s coat and red hot anger kept him warm as he stormed through the town. A crowd gathered but he pushed on through, determined to find the stranger. He felt ready to strangle the little blonde prick at this point, and it showed on his face. The crowd backed away with every single heavy step.

Mako was going to find him, and he was going to ask him why he had left like he did. When he remembered how the stranger had fallen down the stairs in an almost comical fashion, he thought he would probably ask if he was okay, too. Worry crept up from the bottom of his mind as he wondered how the stranger was doing. His anger, much to his annoyance, faded bit by bit as he became more uneasy about the blonde’s condition.

Damn that thief.

~~~~~

Jamison couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this much pain. Trying to secretly dig gravel out of his chest for two days was more than uncomfortable, and when he finally properly cleaned the wounds, everything stung and ached and tears formed in his eyes. He thought back to the vague memories of his amputation, but he had been so knocked out the whole time that he didn’t remember much of it. Then again, even if he was conscious, he probably wouldn’t remember it.

He didn’t want to think about his bad memories now, though. He wanted to reminisce on the prince, and that amazing head he’d gotten. It made his body tingle thinking about it, and he soon found himself daydreaming about the prince’s face. He wondered if he was capable of forgetting that face, with its beautiful and mysterious scars and the thick lips that had driven his cock crazy.

His face went red and he sighed dreamily, attempting to stretch out his sore body before groaning at the pain. He wondered if he had broken anything. Probably did. He had fallen down the damn staircase like a ragdoll.

Suddenly he heard the front door open and slam shut and three excited voices. He peeked out of the doorway to see his step family all huddled around each other excitedly. They were all chattering about something, and from how utterly excited they all seemed, he knew he just had to eavesdrop. He strained to hear what they were saying and his heart skipped a couple beats when he could finally hear their whispers clearly.

“The prince is looking for some mysterious thief from the ball!” Mei claimed. “Apparently he stole the crown!”

The prince was _looking_ for him?

He fought to contain his squeal of delight and slight fear and began to plan his second introduction to the prince. After all, his first impression was clearly memorable. He hobbled downstairs and grabbed the crown, certain the prince would arrive soon.

_End of Chapter_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a lot more lackluster than chapter three, but I wanted to slow it down before its big finish, y'know??
> 
> Bear with me I can hardly write angst lmao


	5. The End

It didn’t take Mako long to find the stranger. All he had needed was the peg leg and everyone seemed to know him. It also seemed like everyone either pitied him or hated him. He found one old, stout shopkeeper leaning against her broom in the doorway of her store. She waved him over once she got a look at the peg leg. She told the prince that he was someone that frequented her store.

“’E’s always travelin’ with ’is step motha and step brothas,” the short woman said, taking a moment to spit out some chewing tobacco before speaking again. “They’re real pieces of work, they are. Live in a little shitshack outside a’ town, down a beat up rock trail. Hard ta 5miss.”

The prince thanked her and told her that she would be rewarded. She rolled her eyes a bit and muttered something like “yeah, sure” before he moved on. He would be sure to pay her after he dealt with the stranger. For now, he needed to find a rock path outside of town.

Again, this took barely any time at all. He found it within minutes of stepping over the town boundaries and looking around the perimeter of the forest. Of course it was in plain sight, no one would want to forget where their house was. He brought two of his guards and instructed the other two he had brought to gather all of the ones searching and to return to the castle. He had found him.

It was time to get some goddamn answers.

~~~

Jamison hadn’t been this excited in a while. Despite the wheezing coming from his sore chest and lungs and the aching all over his body, he still fumbled around his room trying to make himself look presentable. He wondered if he faked sadness if he could get the fairy godmother to come back again. After laying in bed crying crocodile tears for about five minutes, he figured that it probably wasn’t going to work.

After his attempt to summon the godmother, he hobbled to his closet, leaning on his walls and creaky desk for support. He muttered and cursed when he remembered, yet again, that he didn’t have jack shit to wear. He considered his stitched up outside from before, but then he remembered the ridicule he’d gotten from his step family. He wasn’t going to embarrass himself like that again.

Still, he needed something decent. Or at least two legs to walk on, he thought as he looked down at his stump. He stared at it for a moment, swallowing the vulnerable feeling he got when he didn’t have his prosthetic, and got an idea. A grin slowly crept onto his face as he stumbled over to the hall closet just outside of the room. He dug around until he found what he was looking for.

After he internally cheered at his find, he hobbled back into his room and dug around his desk drawers for some tape. He was going to need a lot of it.

~~~

Mako realized that he found it rather easy to believe that the stranger that had seemed to strangely charming and ill-mannered would live in such a wreck. The tiny little house looked like it was nearly bursting with knick knacks and useless junk. Gutted vehicles laid in groups around the expansive yard, hidden in the trees. He shook his head at the mess as he stepped up to the door, peg leg in hand and guards in tow.

He raised a heavy, restrained fist and knocked. He heard a group of loud whispers after that, excited voices tittering from beyond the door. He was half tempted to press his ear to the wood, just to clearly hear what was being said. Before he could, though, the door swung wide open, and he was greeted with the chubby face of a tiny Chinese woman. Not quite what he was expecting, but he could work with it.

“I’m looking for a thief,” he began, his voice low and clear. “I’ve been told that I can find him here.”

“I doubt that you mean either of my sons,” the woman replied, her voice incredulous.

He looked over her shoulder to look at Hanzo and Genji, who were trying to hide as they stared at the prince, but failed and made themselves obvious. Mako looked back at the woman and shook his head, finally presenting the peg leg.

“I’m looking for whoever this belongs to.”

~~~

This plan was genius, nothing could beat it. Jamison giggled and cackled and cheered for himself as the sound of duct tape ripped through his room. He was going to look amazing when he wasn’t using the wall to hold himself up.

Of course he wasn’t entirely ready when he heard Mei angrily call his name from upstairs, but he still scrambled up the stairs. The loud, somewhat familiar thunking noise on the stairs with every other step gave him some comfort. He was ready to be yelled at, but then he stumbled into the cluttered living room and stopped short.

He felt his impromptu peg leg - a broomstick he had snapped in half and duct taped onto his leg - wiggle around, unsteady. A chill ran down his spine at the sight of the beast standing at his front door, the mixed emotions on his expression. Jamison’s eyes traveled from the prince’s face to his outstretched hand, his prosthetic snug in its grip.

“Oi, tha’s me leg!” he shouted with a grin, trying to walk over. The broomstick caught on something and snagged, the duct tape ripping off his body and making him fall, a long, loud curse word following close by.

~~~

It was almost funny, watching the stranger flail like that. But then he remembered why he was there when the little woman looked up at him, disbelief and anger in her eyes. Her gaze snapped back to the blonde - who he quickly figured out was her stepson - and she was furious.

“You went to the ball?!” she screamed, not even bothering to hide it from the prince. He couldn’t tell if that was admirable or annoying. “And you _stole_ from the castle?! What kind of dumbass are you, Jamison?”

So his name was Jamison. That didn’t sound entirely fitting, but the prince liked it anyways. It was interesting. But this little outburst of his stepmother’s wasn’t exactly at the best time. Something was clearly wrong with the blonde, especially since he hadn’t gotten up yet. The prince felt a dark worrying feeling creep up in his mind, and he knew he needed to just get Jamison and leave.

“Excuse me,” Mako said after clearing his throat. The noise stopped. “As you have just said, miss, he did in fact steal from the castle. I’ll be needing to take him in.”

The woman had a few emotions pass her face. Eventually she just looked down at Jamison again and scoffed, turning her nose up to him and ignoring his pained groans. Mako ignored the tightness in his chest at the sound of it, knowing he needed to get Jamison out. He stepped inside of the home, excusing himself quietly, and picked up the blonde.

 _So light_ , he thought. _So skinny_.

It was easy to maneuver Jamison into a comfortable position in his arms. He hoped that the stepmother wouldn’t notice the lack of a search for the stolen crown, and he especially hoped that his guards wouldn’t comment on the way he was carrying the thief.

~~~

Jamison couldn’t remember the last time he felt such a sharp soreness spread through him so quickly. He hadn’t had much time to recover before he fell over in the living room. The hard floor had reminded his aching body that, yes, it was still in pain and was trying hard to heal itself. It was actually extremely embarrassing, especially with the prince right there. Yet he still found himself irritated that he had to hobble out on a damn broken broomstick while the prince sat pretty with _his_ leg.

Still, being carried like a new bride in the prince’s big, strong arms was nice. Very nice, in fact. His body was being cradled in a way that kept him from jostling around too much. The sound of the prince’s heavy breathing was strangely calming, at least mixed with the sound of his heartbeat, which was right next to Jamison’s ear. It made the blonde remember that this was all real, and even if he was in pain and was still probably going to hack up a rock or two later, he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

They took a while to get to the castle, the carriage ride there nearly making him cry. The prince tried to comfort him and hold him steady, but it didn’t help when his grip would accidentally tighten uncomfortably at a bump in the road. When they were right by the castle doors, Jamison realized he had been spaced out for a good amount of the journey. The prince was trying to shake him awake and he couldn’t help the mixed emotions running through his mind at the sight of the mountainous man.

“God, yer beautiful,” he said, a dreamy smile on his face. He felt himself slipping in and out of consciousness. What was happening? Was he dying? Was this really all some strange hallucination? “I love ya so much.”

After a goofy laugh and one last look into the prince’s blurry face, Jamison fell into the prince and passed out.

~~~

Mako wasn’t sure why Jamison had passed out, but he was at least grateful he was here. After checking his pulse, he was even more grateful that the blonde was actually alive. Now they just needed to get inside and get him checked out. Judging by the dried blood and smell of dirt all over him, he needed to be looked at.

As the doctor looked Jamison over, Mako let his mind wander. He wondered what had happened after the blonde had run away, how he got this badly hurt. He wondered for a moment if maybe his step mother had caused the injuries, but from the way she reacted, it seemed unlikely that she had seen him in days. He wondered what was worse, abuse or neglect.

But that didn’t matter now. Jamison was safe here, Mako would make certain of that. He didn’t know why he felt the need to take in this thief, but he knew that he felt rather strongly for him. He chastised himself for going so quickly, but he soon realized that he wanted a real future with this man. Probably not his wisest choice, but he knew what he wanted to ask when the stranger woke back up.

He waited for hours, worrying and wondering if maybe he fatally hurt himself. The doctor had mentioned lots of chances of infection, all of the wounds barely cleaned and covered in dirt and even some rat hair. Though there was also a chance that the blonde could make it out alright. He just needed to keep reminding himself of that.

When he did stir, Mako was alone, falling asleep in his chair. All of his guards seemed unsure when he told them to leave him be, but they left and he had made sure that they were not around. It was easy enough to convince them that a wounded, petty thief wouldn’t stand much of a chance against him anyways.

But they didn’t see the happy tears forming in his eyes once Jamison finally woke up.

~~~

Jamison had passed out before, quite a few times. Times when he had forgotten to eat, times he had worked a little too hard, times he stayed up so late he couldn’t even form a proper sentence. He was used to waking up with no memory of when he’d fallen asleep. What he wasn’t used to was the scarred, unmasked face of the prince right beside him when he woke up.

“The fuck happened?” he asked immediately, rubbing his eyes and ignoring the tightness of his muscles.

“You tripped and fainted,” the prince replied, concern still tinting his voice. “We’re gonna look you over and see if you’re okay.”

“We?”

“Doctors.”

“Roight. Doctors.”

After that, Jamison went in and out of consciousness, still groggy and still unable to fully wake up. The doctors checked his pulse and did some bloodwork and he found himself scared of the needles, but the prince held his hand and distracted him while they pricked his skin. He was grateful for it. He hadn’t been to a doctor since his father died and he felt scared by all of the sudden medical attention.

Turns out they had gotten all of the rocks out of his chest and properly tended to his wounds. Lucky for him, they got it all cleaned just before an infection may have started. But because of the timing, though, they were still going to have to check on it and its healing progress every time they cleaned the bandages. Jamison hoped the prince would be there then, too.

Once all was said and done, the blonde finally got a moment to relax. He was much more awake at that point, and he was chattering to the prince, who looked nervous for some reason. Jamison got sick of the tension between them and spoke up.

“What’s on yer mind, mate?” he asked, using his good arm to reach over and nudge at the prince’s arm. “Yer actin’ weird.”

That got the prince’s attention. He fiddled with his large hands nervously, trying to form his words. He was a quiet bloke to begin with, but now he just seemed silent. Jamison didn’t like it. Though he wasn’t sure how to respond when the prince finally did speak.

“I want to marry you.”

~~~

Nothing could have ruined a comfortable mood more quickly. Despite the tension of Mako’s inner battles of whether or not he should ask, they had been relaxed. Everything had been quiet and nice and now they were faced with a rather serious issue. What to do now? His irrational and tired thinking was now out in the open.

Jamison swallowed hard, forcing out a nervous giggle. “Ya sure about that, mate? I mean, blowin’ me in a coat closet is a little different from marryin’ me.” More nervous laughter. “Fucks’ sake, I don’t even know yer name.” He didn’t sound annoyed, just conflicted.

Mako felt a hot wave of embarrassment crash over him. He wanted to say more but was worried. Ah, hell, he couldn’t really get much worse than this, could he? He rambled on, looking away to hide the ashamed blush on his face.

“I haven’t felt what I feel with you with anyone else in...years,” he started, rushing through his thoughts, already feeling odd talking so much about his own feelings. “You...you’re different. Really different. You’re rude and vulgar and you have no manners what so fucking ever but I can’t...I can’t help feeling like we’re _right_ for each other. I’m not usually so impulsive or fast, but, I just...I just don’t want to risk losing you again.”

Jamison was quiet and Mako had never wanted to bury himself in a hole more. What had he done? What was this man doing to him? He got up to leave, quickly muttering “sorry, just forget it” before Jamison grabbed his sleeve. He turned around to see the blonde, face covered in tears and snot with a giant grin on his face. Anything but a pretty crier, but that smile made it worth the disgusting sight.

“Are ya f-fuckin’ kidding me, mate?!” he shouted, voice shaky. “Let’s do it!”

Mako smiled, teared up, and pulled the thief into a kiss. He only let go when he heard a groan of pain from his tight grip. He laid him back on the bed with a quiet apology.

 _Two Months Later_ …

Jamison took a day or two to remember Mako’s name, but once he got it, he almost never stopped saying it. He loved how different it sounded, and Mako loved the way he said it. Though the process wasn’t all as easy or joyful, since it had taken over a week to get everyone else on board with the arrangement, especially when Jamison had stolen from the castle. But his charges were dropped as soon as the crown was returned, and without a scratch on it.

The wedding planning itself started a week after that, that entire week filled with Jamison and Mako getting to know each other a little better. The two were both silently worried they had rushed everything, but once they were able to actually talk, it was as though they’d known each other for years. Everything about it was fun, the chaste kisses between Mako’s meetings, the long walks around the castle gardens, the late nights where they were able to just lay together and talk.

Normally, Jamison wouldn’t be sharing a bed with Mako until after they had wed. But considering their “activities” at the ball, they figured that maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to sleep together. They decided that they would save their next sexual experience for after their wedding night.

That didn’t hold when they were nearly a month in and Jamison became needy. They never did anything more than quick handjobs or blowjobs, but it was still exhilarating. Jamison couldn’t wait until their wedding night.

By the time their wedding did roll around an entire month of planning later, nobody could be more ecstatic than the princes and their king. King Reinhardt - Mako’s adoptive father, a good, German man with a heart of gold. The king had been around through the entire planning process, giving little tips and suggestions to the couple.

He had even taken Jamison onto the balcony, a warm smile on his face. That made the blonde feel better about being absolutely dwarfed by the man. They stared out together, at the gardens, the kingdom, the beautiful blue sky. It was a moment or two before Jamison shifted awkwardly.

“I’m sorry, your Highness? Why’re we out ’ere?” he had asked, hoping not to anger the giant.

The king took a deep breath, though it seemed to be more to enjoy the warm spring air than to calm himself. “It is beautiful out here, is it not?”

A thick eyebrow raised in return. “...Yeah, s’nice.”

“You are a beautiful man, as well,” Reinhardt said simply, looking down at his future son-in-law. “You have a good heart. Mako loves you dearly, and I know you love him as well.”

Jamison didn’t quite know how to respond, so he said the first thing that came to mind. “Roight.”

“I hope you can make my boy very, very happy, Jamison. Just as I know he will do for you as well.” Reinhardt reached into his pocket, pulling out a small locket. “This isn’t much, but I want you to consider it my gift to you. A celebration of your happiness.”

Jamison reached out and took the locket, holding it in his prosthetic hand and examining it. He opened it carefully with his left hand, seeing a picture of a much younger Reinhardt with a young woman with long, black hair on his shoulders. The blonde looked up at the king curiously.

“Ana was my wife,” he began, sadness in his eyes. “She was beautiful, and kind. She was strong as well, able to take anything that hit her. She and her daughter Pharah were the light of my life, and they were even in the army with me.” He chuckled at the memory. “Imagine that, the royal family, a part of an army. Unheard of.” The chuckle died down and he sighed sadly.

He was silent for a moment, willing the memories back. “I lost them both in combat. When I did, I realized that...my life wouldn’t be the same without them. I loved them dearly, and I still do. I’m lucky to have found Mako, he was a homeless teenager when I found him.” Another smile, though it wasn’t as depressed. “Strong young man, big. But he was one of the best young men I’ve ever known. Even as I get older, I’ve never found anyone quite like him.”

Jamison sighed, looking back out at the garden. “Yeah, he’s amazin’.” A soft smile.

A huge hand suddenly pat Jamie on the back. “You two will have a great life together, I just know it.”

He walked off, and Jamison was left to ponder it. He thought about that until the wedding day, when Reinhardt was sitting nearby, smiling and cheering them on. No one had the heart to calm him down. When Jamison walked up to Mako, all dressed in his fine black suit, his peg leg tapping against the floor, he realized that he couldn’t have ever been happier.

Once the vows were spoken and they had their bonding kiss, Jamison felt himself crying. He wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with the prince.

_End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This thing is finally over
> 
> I might actually miss this...may do some quick oneshots for it at some other time
> 
> For now, please enjoy this monster of a fanfic


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